


Blue Blood

by mveloc



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Clexa, F/F, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5920288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mveloc/pseuds/mveloc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slighty AU. What if Lexa hadn't abandoned Clarke at Mount Weather? The battle is fought and won and they all return to the Grounder camp to rejoice and recover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Blood

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** Soooo, I’m new to the 100 fandom after binge watching it all and catching up with the current season this past week. I’ve only written Cophine fic before, but I’ve totally fallen for Clexa so this is my first leap into the fandom. You can also check me out on **tumblr (mveloc)** , where I post all of my fic and other ramblings :)
> 
> This story is slightly AU, taking place between seasons two and three. What if Lexa hadn’t abandoned Clarke at Mount Weather? The battle continued and was eventually won, and the story picks up as they all return to the Grounder camp to recover/celebrate their victory. It’s mostly just porn without (or with very minor) plot, to be honest. There’ll be one or two more parts after this, as well ;)

She makes her way through the crowded camp, stepping carefully around the rows of wounded bodies and the men and women tending to them. Bloodied faces look up at her, some smiling and some bewildered by her very presence. One man— arm bandaged and tattooed face freshly scarred— reaches towards her with a glimmer in his eyes, chanting words she can’t quite fully understand yet. Within seconds, everyone’s turning to face her, some joining in his chant and others whispering amongst themselves as she responds with a modest smile and a bow of her head, waiting for the ruckus to subside. 

 

“Clarke!”

 

She whips around to find her mother slowly approaching and greets the woman with a large hug, hovering in the safety of the embrace for a moment before pulling away, the softness in her expression shifting to a far more serious one.

 

“How is everyone?” she asks.

 

She knows Bellamy and the others are fine, having just come from speaking with them. However, she’s yet to truly count their losses and survey the damage they’ve been dealt. While her friends may be safe, she knows that many lost their lives tonight.

 

“We’re prepping the wounded for transport,” Abby replies, her voice steady. “We have better equipment back at our own camp. We’ll be able to treat them properly.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” Clarke nods. 

 

Her mother places a reassuring hand upon her shoulder.

 

“You should come back with us, too.”

 

The younger girl shrugs.

 

“I-I’m fine,” she protests. “I made out pretty lucky.”

 

Lucky compared to most. 

 

“Even still. We need you,” her mother insists.

 

“You’ll be fine for a few hours,” Clarke replies. “There’s… there’s something I need to do first.”

 

She turns her head, eyes landing on the largest tent in the entire camp— _the commander’s tent._ She hasn’t seen Lexa since the battle came to a conclusion. Abby’s eyes follow her gaze and the chancellor quickly comes to understand her daughter’s words, a smile forming.

 

“Go.”

 

Clarke nods, offering her mother one last smile before continuing on her way to her initial destination. Once she reaches Lexa’s tent, two men standing guard step in front of the entrance, their heads bowed as they bar her path.

 

“The commander is not to be disturbed,” one speaks, his voice gruff and words heavily accented.

 

She meets his gaze with eyes full of fire and defiance.

 

“Let me through,” she demands. “I need to see her.”

 

Both men puff out their chests, standing taller and dwarfing the slender blonde. Even still, she refuses to back down and it isn’t until she hears a familiar voice barking commands from inside the tent that the two eventually step aside. 

 

She releases a sigh of relief and brushes by them, stepping into the tent.

 

“Clarke.”

 

She freezes when she catches sight of the brunette perched atop the edge of the large bed, her upper half bare aside from the fabric concealing her breasts. Her eyes fall upon Lexa’s shoulder, upon the freshly cauterized bullet wound that she received during the battle at Mount Weather.

 

“I came to—”

 

She stops herself.

 

Just what _has_ she come here to do?

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Lexa lifts her eyes, gaze steady and impermeable as always. 

 

“I’m fine.” 

 

The commander reaches into the large bowl of clean water on the table before her, retrieving a cloth to lightly dab at the wound. Her composure never falters even though the pain is undeniable as cool water comes into contact with seared skin.

 

“That bullet was meant for me,” Clarke speaks, stepping closer while swallowing the ball lodged in her throat.

 

She hadn’t even seen it coming, but Lexa had. The older girl had thrown her body against hers at the last moment, knocking her out of the way and taking the bullet instead. She’d cried out in pain before charging forward, burying her sword in the perpetrators chest while Clarke watched from the ground, wide-eyed and immobile.

 

“It shall be a badge of honour,” the young commander speaks, tilting her chin up, head held as high as ever.

 

A beat of silence passes between them as Lexa dips the cloth back into the bowl of water, soaking it for a moment before ringing it out, tiny droplets of water dripping back into the bowl as Clarke watches with muted curiosity.

 

“You fought well tonight.”

 

The brunette brings the cloth to her face, beginning the slow process of wiping away the battle grime.

 

“I just pulled a trigger— that’s all,” Clarke retorts, watching the other girl clean herself. “It was our people who did all the fighting.”

 

Lexa nods in agreement. 

 

“Tonight, we shall tend to our fallen. Tomorrow, we shall feast together.”

 

The blonde smiles meekly and closes the distance between them.

 

“Here.”

 

She takes a seat on edge the bed next to Lexa, reaching for the cloth. The Grounder reluctantly loosens her grip, eyes focused intently on the blonde’s face as Clarke resumes the task of cleaning the dirt and blood and makeup away. Her strokes are broad yet gentle, layers of that fine, carefully crafted mask slowly melting away beneath her touch as Lexa swallows hard, her eyes hazy.

 

“Your friends inside the mountain—”

 

“They’ll be okay,” Clarke interrupts her, already knowing the question.

 

She dips the cloth into the bowl once more, the water quickly turning dark. She rings it again and continues, bringing the cloth to Lexa’s lips where she lingers for a moment, the two of them locking eyes. Clarke’s breathing becomes shallow as she traces the warrior’s lips through the cloth, watching as Lexa’s eyes flutter at the gesture.

 

“You should tend to them, as well,” Lexa speaks, her voice low. “They need you.”

 

She moves on from Lexa’s lips, tracing the bridge of her nose, the line of her brow, the dip of her eyes, watching as the girl lurking beneath slowly rises to the surface and the battle-hardened commander quietly sinks away, dispersing in the murky bowl of water.

 

“I said they’ll be fine,” Clarke repeats. “And I owe you one.”

 

With one final brush of her hand, the last of their battle is wiped away. Fresh eyes gleam back at her and as she goes to withdraw her hand, the brunette’s shoots up and wraps around her wrist, holding her in position. A shiver rolls up her spine, her breathing ceases and body locks up as Lexa pulls the cloth away, discarding it into the bowl and leaning into the warmth of Clarke’s hand.

 

“Lexa…”

 

Clarke’s voice wavers as she watches the other girl close her eyes and bury her face in the palm of her hand. She feels the softness of the commander’s lips as they press a kiss into the center of her palm. 

 

“I know,” Lexa replies, and it sounds almost like a sigh of defeat. “You’re not ready.”

 

Even still, neither girl moves. Neither girl attempts to retreat or push forward. They linger on the precipice for what feels like a lifetime before Lexa finds her words again.

 

“I just want…”

 

And once again, she finds herself trapped beneath her words— trapped beneath a concept so foreign to her. _Desire_. When was the last time she truly _wanted_ something? Something for _herself_ , not just for her people? When she meets Clarke’s eyes again, she sees the same torment reflected back at her until Clarke closes in and blocks out the light, surging forward, her lips finding Lexa’s in a forceful kiss that the commander quickly sinks into. 

 

Lexa’s arms wrap around the blonde as Clarke slides into her lap, straddling her as their lips continue to tangle with one another. They hold onto each other, each breath exchanged between them crackling with static, each touch more searing than the red hot tip of the blade used to seal the Grounder’s wound. Lexa’s hands circle around to the opening of Clarke’s jacket and slide it off her shoulders, desperate for the skin beneath so many hindering layers.

 

“Lay back,” Clarke whispers against her lips, placing a hand flat against her chest.

 

Lexa arches a brow.

 

“I don’t _lay_ , Clarke,” she retorts, brushing their noses together. 

 

Clarke presses another kiss to her lips, much softer this time.

 

“But you’re hurt. So let me.”

 

She slowly begins to push, watching as Lexa hesitantly obliges, her body sinking back onto a bed of plush furs. Once she’s flat on her back, Clarke reaches for the hem of her shirt, pulling the fabric over her head and tossing it somewhere behind them. Lexa’s eyes light up as more flesh is revealed, her hands gripping the blonde’s hips.

 

“Take it off,” she grunts, nodding her head towards Clarke’s bra.

 

Further incentive unnecessary, Clarke makes quick work of the garment, unhooking and discarding it. She then reaches for Lexa’s own binding, the brunette sitting up to facilitate its removal. Once they’re both bare from the waist up, Clarke lowers herself to hover over the brunette, their mouths fusing together once more as Lexa’s fingers thread through blonde tresses, descend down the smooth plains of Clarke’s back, settling in the deep at the bottom of her spine.

 

“You’re so soft,” the commander expels in an airy breath of disbelief.

 

Clarke chuckles slightly, muffling the sound in the crook of Lexa’s neck.

 

“What’d you think I’d be?” she asks.

 

“ _Hard_. Like me.”

 

Clarke lifts her head again, her eyes landing upon Lexa’s face. The older girl’s eyes are narrowed and distant, fixed firmly on the roof of the tent and yet so far beyond it, completely lost in her thoughts. Clarke pauses for a moment, her eyes shimmering as she gazes down at her new lover.

 

“Hard?” she repeats, her confusion apparent.

 

Lexa meets her gaze again as Clarke’s hands travel up her torso, muscles rippling beneath them. She brushes over the battle scars, the rungs of her ribs, settling them upon the soft swell of her breasts, the corners of her lips twitching into a smile as Lexa’s breath hitches in her chest, her lids flutter.

 

“You feel pretty soft to me.”

 

Lexa’s expression shifts to something unnameable.

 

Suddenly she’s lunging forward, sitting up and bracing Clarke in her lap, lips showering the blonde’s chest with hot, opened-mouthed kisses that has the sky girl writhing, hands fastened to the back of the Lexa’s head, holding her in place.

 

“Lexa,” she sighs as the other girl’s lips wrap around one of her nipples, lightly sucking and teasing at the nub of dusky flesh.

 

She can’t remember the last time she’s been touched like this— since she’s _felt_ like this— and she allows herself to slip into the warmth of the moment, of Lexa’s touch, which is far more tender than she could have ever anticipated.

 

“I want you, Clarke,” Lexa murmurs, her voice thick with desire as she releases the bud.

 

She reaches for the button the of blonde’s pants and Clarke rolls out of her lap, sliding away momentarily so she can remove them herself. Once she’s shed them along with her underwear, she redirects her attention to the commander’s and begins to pull them from long, toned legs. Once they reach her ankles and catch, a few firm kicks has them nearly flying across the tent and Clarke back in Lexa’s lap, staring down at the commander as she traces her cheekbone with the pad of her thumb.

 

“I want you, too,” she breathlessly admits. 

 

And maybe she shouldn’t.

 

Maybe there’s still too much at stake, even with the Mountain Men vanquished. This war may be over, but they’ve been fighting since they landed on Earth and she can’t bring herself to believe that the fighting will stop now, even with the Grounders as their newfound allies. Maybe this is selfish, being in here with Lexa while hundreds suffer just outside of this tent, tending to wounds they suffered at _their_ command.

 

But then maybe it isn’t.

 

**_“Don’t we deserve better than that?”_ **

 

Her kisses become more urgent, tongue plundering the brunette’s mouth as one hand forgoes her grip on Lexa’s head and reaches for her hand, guiding it lower between them to the heat that radiates from between her legs.

 

“Please,” she whispers.

 

Hundreds of people suffer just outside of this tent and even still, she wonders if their aching even comes close to the one she feels now, the one that’s carved a hole in her— a hole that grows deeper with every friend lost, with every impossible decision she’s had to make just to get them here. As the Grounder’s eyes pierce through her veil, she knows for certain that Lexa’s ache may be the only one that matches her own, that her touch may be the only thing that can fill the hole right now.

 

“Anything,” Lexa complies, her fingers twitching experimentally through Clarke’s wetness.

 

She groans quietly, her head tipping back as Lexa circles her clit with two fingers and a surge of electricity shoots up her spine straight to her brain. The lights inside her skull flicker on and off for a moment before she returns to the present, biting down on her lower lip to stifle her own noise.

 

“Don’t hold back, Clarke,” Lexa goads her, voice as throaty as ever as her fingers brush against her clit with a little more pressure. “I want all of your sweet sounds.”

 

Clarke shakes her head.

 

“They’ll hear us,” she protests.

 

There’s an entire army on the other side of the tent, cloth the only thing preventing their exposure. She wonders what their people would think if they heard their two leaders fucking while so many of them bleed and grieve.

 

“They won’t,” Lexa insists, her lips at the sky girl’s throat. “They have bigger concerns.”

 

Maybe Lexa’s right.

 

There’s been a steady buzz of noise all night; with so many people gathered in one place, so many conversations taking place and people darting back and forth, will anyone _really_ be paying attention? Will anyone really care?

 

“And even if they do,” she adds, her fingers pausing at the blonde’s entrance. “We _deserve this.”_

 

She nods, tipping Lexa’s chin up so she can find the heat of her mouth again. As soon as their lips meet, nimble fingers glide into her and she cries out, clinging to the fit commander as tightly as she can.

 

_“Klark kom Skaikru,”_ Lexa groans, her fingers curling. _“Ai… ai…”_

 

The words she’s searching for hang on the tip of her tongue and are swept away in a fury of lips, in the haze of lust she finds herself currently engulfed in; Costia had been a good lover by most people’s standards, there had been an undeniable tenderness there, but she can’t help but note how it pales in comparison to the current that travels through the sky girl straight into the very center of her being. This is not the soft, easy swell of young love that she’d known once before, but a much deeper and darker reservoir, one full of flames and blood and an unbridled need that demands to be answered.

 

“Don’t stop,” Clarke whimpers, her back arching as Lexa continues to work her practiced fingers through the heat of her wetness.

 

“Never,” Lexa nods, nipping at her throat.

 

She bucks against the commander’s hand, desperate for release and determined to ride this all the way through to the other side. Her eyes clamp shut and she can hear Lexa’s breaths coming in harsh, heavy pants that fall damp against her skin, crackling and spitting like the embers of the great fire which consumed Mount Weather just hours before.

 

“Lex— Lexa…”

 

The name catches in her throat, fills her head with dizzying thoughts and sets her blood to boil as the tightness in her groin becomes almost unbearable. 

 

“Look at me, Clarke.”

 

A moan rips through her chest, her eyes firmly closed as Lexa’s voice reaches her ear.

 

_“Look at me.”_

 

Mouth parted, she forces herself to meet Lexa’s penetrating gaze and loses herself entirely in a sea of deep emerald. She finds herself sinking deeper, _deeper—_ water filling the chamber of her lungs and ears, blurring her vision and erasing all sound until she’s weightless in its depth, her body a pile of limp, liquid limbs. The brunette holds her close for a moment, steady in her arm as the last of the blonde’s tremors leave her. When she finally finds the will to move again, she pulls back the lavish pelts of fur, placing Clarke gently beneath their warmth and sliding in next to her, fingers tracing nonsensical shapes across her lover’s chest as she waits for Clarke to join her once more.

 

“That was…” Clarke begins, not knowing quite where to go.

 

“Yes,” Lexa agrees.

 

Clarke rolls her head to the side to take in the commander nestled so closely beside her. Something flashes across the Grounder’s eyes that Clarke can’t quite describe, but the smile on her face is undeniable.

 

“You know,” Clarke says, her own lips upturning into a smile. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you smile— _actually_ smile.”

 

A small giggle bubbles in Lexa’s chest and it’s the most foreign thing, the most delightfully strange sound the younger girl can remember hearing since she’s arrived on this planet. To see Lexa like this— in an almost _natural_ state— seems like some sort of gift. She wonders how long _this_ Lexa has been hiding, how long the commander has stifled and smothered her while she’s waged war. 

 

But then, is she really so different?

 

She can’t remember the last time she’s laughed, either.

 

“I was… just thinking the same thing,” Lexa says, reaching over to dab a bead of sweat from the Clarke’s brow.

 

Once again, it’s a gesture much too tender for the commander Clarke’s come to know and her brow furrows, her lower lip quivers.

 

“Rest now,” Lexa tells her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her in even closer.

 

She drapes herself over Clarke, embracing her fully from behind. The curve of their bodies seems to fit together with a perfect grace and she places her hand over Lexa’s, fingers brushing over battered knuckles.

 

“Maybe I should go,” Clarke utters.

 

Can she really do this? Can she _really_ stay here— like _this—_ with _her?_

 

She feels Lexa shake her head in disagreement.

 

“The war is won,” she whispers, her lips pressed to Clarke’s ear. “The world will still be the world tomorrow. So _rest._ ”

 

Somehow, she finds herself strangely able to accept Lexa’s answer. 

 

Despite all odds, her people are still here. They _all_ are. She nods, her eyes finally drifting shut as warm breaths at the nape of her neck lull her into a steady slumber for the first time since she's found herself expelled from space.

 

 


End file.
